


Midsummer Night Dreams

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (implied - part of the unrequited crush), Angst, Archery, Archery Lesson, Caring Thranduil, Comfort, Forbidden Dreams, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Parent/Child Incest, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas receives another lession in archery that only is a further distraction towards his already troubled mind and body</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midsummer Night Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The elves are not mine (unfortunately) they are Tolkien's and PJs, I just love to play with them - no money is made from this.
> 
> *WARNING: This story contains no explicit conent, but mentions one-sided unrequited, illicit feelings from just 18 yr old and the fantasies which derive from the forbidden cursh. If this is not to your liking, please leave now. you've been warned - i am well aware that this is not everybody's cup of tea. And yes, I am crappy at finding titles
> 
> *Timeline: Set long before the Hobbit and LotR, Legolas is around 15 in human years.

**~Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind~**

**.**

That very time I saw (but thou couldst not)

Flying between the cold moon and the Earth,

Cupid all armed. A certain aim he took

At a fair vestal throned by the west,

And loosed his love shaft smartly from his bow

As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.

_*W. Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream*_

 

**~*~**

 

**Midsummer Night Dreams  
**

The first rays of the sun slowly began to pierce through the sky, announcing the new day; it was the peak of summer, despite the early hour of the day pleasantly warm already, a gentle breeze dancing through the dense leaf-canopy of his enchanted forest, the air still heavy with the scents of night-blossoming flowers and the subtle notes of fresh dew. The King slowly breathed in and out, admiring the indescribable beauty his Realm had to offer as he stood on his balcony, his nudity only covered by a silken blanket that was wrapped around his hips. A soft and affectionate smile hushed over the King’s face as his gaze roamed freely over the dark trees that slowly began to glow golden.

Soon after, Anor sparked a firework of exploding colors into the cloudless sky, dark violet at first but soon bright orange mingled in the sky like golden flames. His gaze automatically travelled skywards; Thranduil had seen countless sunrises in his life but this was certainly the most beautiful one he had seen for many centuries and absently a warm smile tugged at the corner of his lips. A soft sigh escaped him as bathed his fair face in the gentle sunlight, soaking up the warmth the dazzling sunbeams were offering freely.

His regal duties had to wait this day, the King declared – no one would lock him inside a dark council chamber on such a radiant day. He longed to feel the soft wind to caress his skin, feel the breeze dancing through his flowing hair again, to breath in the divine aromas of his forest, to feel its soil beneath his bare feet. The forest to which he was so deeply connected in mind and body; he was the forest and the forest was him. Dusty and warm, soft and cold alike, ancient as the world itself but still alive.

Thranduil closed his eyes in bliss as he drew in a last deep and steady breath before he turned around and disappeared into his chambers to make himself presentably.

 

~~

The day was still veiled in utter darkness when Legolas escaped his chambers like a thief in the night. Soft moonlight played through the dense leaf-canopy of his father’s forest when he sneaked outside the palace, heading into the direction of the training fields which were located at the very end of the royal grounds, but still inside the guarded palace walls. Without looking back he walked along the even path under the gentle moonlight that caressed his blonde hair. Soundlessly and carefully – as if he was about to do something forbidden. His ivory skin gloomed in the twilight like a lantern in the darkness, his hair was flowing freely through the nightly air – the young Elvenprince was truly a sight to behold.

Countless arrows filled his richly decorated quiver, his slender fingers were wrapped tightly around the wooden training bow that would be his only companion for the next few hours.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he finally reached the training grounds, gladly that nobody has seen or disturbed him in his search for solitude.

The pale light of the crescent moon was still the only source of light but by the time he had positioned himself his eyes have already adjusted to the surreal twilight that was part of the unruly hour of his archery session.

 _‘So it ever was, so it will always be’_ Legolas said to himself in an almost bitter tone as he shot the first arrow; coming here in the middle of the night in search for tranquility and solitude to sooth his troubled mind had almost become a daily routine by now. Sneaking away from his father’s palace like a thief in the night. Certainly, from time to time somebody must have seen him but nobody had ever dared to interrupt the Princes’ training.

Arrow after arrow he shot, speckled shadows casting playfully patterns across his pale skin, subtle scents of summer flowers wavering through the air – he couldn’t care less in his morosity.

When the sun finally greeted the new day, Legolas did not pay any notice to the unfolding beauty that sparked its firework across the sky, being completely lost in his very own musings. His arms were already heavy like the stones that enclosed the training field, his muscles and fingers cramped from the continuous hold he had on his bow; slowly but deliberately frustration began to rise within him with every arrow that failed to hit its mark.

 

 

~~

There was no need for kingly extravagances this very morning Thranduil decided; a plain tunic in the darkest shades of emeralds and black breeches would be entirely sufficient to greet the new day. No lavish jewelry adorned his perfect fingers nor did intricate brooches decorate his garments; he wasn’t meant to impress nor to rule his Kingdom this very day and his silvery circlet remained untouched on the wooden table where he had placed it last night.

Few were the occasions these days were he could be himself; not Mirkwood’s proud and imperious King, bitter, deadly calm and icy as the piercing guts of winter but truly himself; Thranduil Oropherion, the elf who so much enjoyed the tranquility of his forest, its countless plants and beasts, who loved best the pale twilight of the moon and stars and the wandering beneath the open sky.

A genuine smile graced his lips as he strolled out of his palace into the gentle light of the new day, as he wandered soundlessly on bare feet across the damp soil of the royal gardens without following a specific direction. The soft aromas of countless flowers soon filled his lungs and his mind drifted off into a wake dream, remembering his days as young and carefree prince who did not need to fulfil regal duties, whose wicked mind was entirely at ease, free to roam, free to dream. Despite all the political quarrels among the Elves which Oropher had to deal with those days were good and care-free.

At first, the King had no explanation why he had strolled into the direction he was heading to, why he was drawn towards the training grounds at the other side of the gardens like a moth towards the searing flame – at least not until his gaze fell onto the lone figure that stood at the very end of them.

With eyes closed he would recognize his beloved son, being robbed of all his senses he would still sense his presence; but an inner turmoil he could not explain made him hesitate before he finally entered the secluded area.

It felt as if he interrupted Legolas’ solitude, as if he invaded his private space to watch him with prying eyes. Of course those thoughts were ridiculous in itself, yet a certain unease persisted and in silence he asked himself why on earth Legolas had decided to train at such an unruly hour instead of sleeping in.

~~

For long moments Thranduil watched his son in silence from the massive stone wall that restricted the spacious training ground. It was the peak of summer, early still but already pleasantly warm, the fragrance of roses and wild flowers from the near-by gardens wavering through the damp air. It was truly wonderful and he regretted that he hadn’t paid his gardens a visit more often recently or watched his only child train the finery of archery.

In truth, the King had hardly visited the training grounds these past months, years even; the time was quiet and peaceful and he couldn’t be bothered to observe every sparring session of his warriors. His captains had been chosen carefully over the past centuries – one by one after long years of observation; the best warriors his kingdom had to offer, highly skilled in the arts of war, beautiful with their fluid, graceful motions yet deadly if necessary.

Thranduil completely trusted them in everything they did, giving his son and heir the necessary education as warrior among them.

He couldn’t help but smile when involuntarily his mind slipped into pleasant memories of Legolas’ childhood days. Aye, when his son was younger they have often spent the days outside on the training ground or deep within the enchanted forest; countless had been the days in which the King had taught the little elfling all his skills and knowledge but soon Legolas had grown out of his tutorage, becoming a perfect archer himself. Whilst the King’s own strength was certainly the dance of swords, calm, swift, deadly - his son’s burning passion was archery, always had been since he had received his bow. Oh how his eyes have sparkled when he had hold the tiny weapon in his little hands, squeaking delightfully in a voice that still warmed his father’s heart. Nothing was left of the elfling, Thranduil thought as his eyes travelled over his son, he had grown into an adult far too soon.

Even if his statue might still develop he had the perfect build for his preference; the long and graceful body, broad shoulder that were flowing down to slender hips and impossibly long legs. He was extraordinarily beautiful even among the fair race of Elves, intelligent and skilled. But in fact skilled was truly an understatement; the young elf had almost bested every archer that paid visit to the Woodland Realm. On the training field, in those joyful torments which were occasionally held on Thranduil’s court – if he was honest to himself there was not much that he could teach his beloved son in the arts of archery, but occasionally he still did. Even if he would never admit it openly, for the King those training sessions had been the perfect excuse to slip away from boring council meetings and other regal duties. Family came first. Always and foremost. Sadly, Legolas was the only family he had left the King mused bitterly.

From time to time he had still observed the almost grimly determined training of his child, wondering where his eagerness and utter determination to best every single archer had come from; it almost seemed as if he wished to prove himself, to show that he was the very best among all others. Those past months however, Thranduil hadn’t spent a single day training his beloved child but he had observed him nevertheless.

He had never been certain if Legolas had noticed his presence or not as the young elf had always been too occupied in whatever he did.

 

~~

Legolas released another arrow, frowning loudly when it struck again the nearest tree instead of the target that was placed beneath several yards away from where he stood. Countless times he had retrieved the arrows that have gone astray by now and possibly he would retrieve them another ten times before he would call it a day.

A heavy sigh tumbled from his lips when he picked up the shafts from the dusty ground and walked back with lowered head towards the line which he had drawn into the dust. He shook his head in frustration and pulled a new shaft from his quiver, narrowing his eyes, focusing the target that lay right before him. Draw, aim, release – nothing more simply as that Legolas told himself over and over as he drew back the bowstring.

Thranduil shook his head in silence – the next arrow would certainly miss its mark too. If Legolas was lucky it might hit the target at its very edge, but even this the King highly doubted. Nothing the young elf did this very morning made any sense – it seemed as if his son had ridiculously forgotten everything he had learnt over the past years. From his tutors and from himself.

Of course, the King was completely right in his assumption – another arrow was lost in the dense bushes of his forest. Usually Legolas’ arrows lodged themselves in the target almost automatically; one by one, no matter if it were ten or a hundred. Over the past years he hadn’t seen any arrow that his son had shot miss its target, usually the dead center was crowded.

But this session was truly a display of misery. “He is so very different this very morning.” Thranduil mumbled to himself. Mentally absent, grim, bitter even he seemed as he kicked against his quiver in frustration. Certainly his young son was ridiculously upset. The King had not the slightest idea what on earth could trouble his beloved child to such an extent that the playful nature of his son seemed to be completely tarnished by grimness!

Legolas stomped his foot into the dusty ground after the quiver has fallen onto it and swore under his breath in the most inappropriate manner for an elf of his status. He didn’t care at the slightest, after all he was alone. Repeatedly, he flexed his left hand around the bow; his fingers were starting to cramp – he had already spent several hours on the training ground in a futile attempt to calm his troubled mind. All effort had been in vain – as always, the young elf thought bitterly. Instead of finding mental peace and pleasant exhaustion, his frustration only grew with every arrow that swirled through the air.

Legolas cursed bitterly and he was tempted to simply throw his bow onto the ground and run away deep into the tranquil woods.

Briefly the King pondered his thoughts how to proceed; if he should announce his presence or simply let his child be at peace. When Thranduil strolled leisurely over to where his son stood, he was still not entirely certain if this was a wise decision or not. After all, Legolas was his son and has inherited quite something of his own temper that could be easily aroused. The warmth that filled his forest also warmed the King’s heart, the rays of the sun melted his icy demeanor with every second they caressed his ivory skin and he couldn’t comprehend why Legolas apparently paid no notice to the beautiful day that announced itself.

**~~**

Legolas was contemplating shooting a few more arrows when his father’s voice startled him out of his silent musings and interrupted his train of thoughts.

“A wonderful good morning, Legolas.” Thranduil greeted, finally announcing his presence towards his son who pulled back the bowstring, aiming again at the target. The young elf froze in an instant, a heavy lump forming in his throat; his heart began to beat quickly against his rib-cage, his breath hitched when a certain nervousness mingled with the embarrassment that began to occupy his mind.

It had been many month since his Sire and King had last joined him on the training grounds; and the young elf would have lied by saying he hadn’t enjoyed the solitude over the past months, escaping his father’s watchful and never-tiring eyes. Aye, Thranduil had always meant well but at times his presence was sheer impossible to bear for him.

Today was good as any day of the year, but for Legolas it was the most unfortunate coincidence imaginable. The night had been restless as so many nights have been recently, he was exhausted and tired, possibly unable to completely hide his emotions that occupied his heart and soul.

 _‘Oh no.’_ The Elvenprince wished to say but he refrained – he could hardly deny his Sire and King to visit his own training fields, could he? No. Instead to voice his protest he was offering a rather formal greeting towards him after the arrow was released from its hold. Of course it missed the center and disappeared in the woods. “Aur vaer, Ada.” he retorted quietly, not bothering to turn around and face his Sire, but quickly drawing another shaft from his quiver.

Still, the silvery voice echoed in his head saying a million things the adamant and pure King would never say, possibly not even think of. The ethereal figure who certainly belonged to another world, gliding on clouds when he walked, outshining everything and everybody around him with a glow that resembled the purity of the starlight. And then there was himself: dirty, covered over and over in dust from the training fields, misery and tragedy incarnated, his thoughts impure as anything could ever be.

“Forgive me if I have startled you.” Thranduil said apologetically in a voice that was sweeter than honey, more melodious as the constant chirping of the birds in the leaf-canopy when he came to stand behind his son. The young princeling allowed his eyes to fall shut briefly, sensing his father’s body warmth against his back, the unique fragrance that escaped his hair and skin, the alluring aroma that was tickling his nose; it robbed the young elf nearly off his senses.

Was he supposed to receive another lesson in archery? Hardly – his father had stopped to train him personally long ago, yet the following words were unmistakably. He had heard them over and over again in his child-hood days, and now they were whispered right into his pointy ear. Again, Legolas’ breath hitched and he prayed to the Valar that his King would not notice his faltering composure.

“Concentrate, but avoid thinking too much.” The King’s voice was gentle, affectionate even when he took another step forwards until their bodies almost touched. So close they were that Legolas could almost feel his father’s hands against his skin, his breath tickling his ears - or had his mind decided to play a trick upon his expenses? Adding another distraction to his futile attempts to make the arrow hit its mark? As if the King’s sole presence was not enough already? An exaggerated sigh escaped the young elf. What was he supposed to respond? Wouldn’t his voice betray him already, nervousness ringing in every word that he would say? Almost soundlessly, Thranduil shifted closer still, placing both of his strong hands onto Legolas shoulders.

He didn’t wish to, but involuntarily the young elf flinched away from the King’s hands which earned him a delicately raised eyebrow that went unnoticed. Draw, aim, release – nothing simpler than that!

 _‘By the Valar. Haven’t I suffered enough already?’_ Legolas only managed to nod just before he released the second arrow with wavering hands and a fluttering stomach. Both heard the bowstring twang and felt the rush of air as the arrow departed, swirling straight through the summer air. Another sigh of frustration left the young elf’s mouth when the arrow again failed to find its mark, disappearing into the dense undergrowth. It was at least the hundredths shot that did not even hit the target and Legolas was thankful that his father had only witnessed the last two fails, at least that was what the Prince thought.

In his grim yet futile determination he hadn’t sensed the King’s presence earlier; Thranduil had watched him for almost an hour in silence, until the golden fireworks had finally disappeared from the awaking sky.

Embarrassment began to creep up Legolas’ cheeks and soon a decent blush graced his fair face; there was nothing he could do against the situation he was caught in and anxiety slowly began to overwhelm him.

“Do not fret, but try again.” The King encouraged his son, adoration audibly in every word he said. It was hardly a surprise that his young son failed at what he tried to do, Thranduil thought in silence. “Maybe I can be of help?” Without awaiting a response, he gently brushed his perfectly manicured fingers over the back of Legolas’ left hand that tightly embraced the bow, knuckles shining white from the firm hold he had around the weapon. His touch sent the most beautiful chills throughout the young Prince’s body, made his vision blur. Legolas inhaled sharply when those skilled fingers caressed his skin so innocent yet in such an incredibly arousing way– he could have fainted from the touch alone and something began to stir in his loins, his leggings being too tight at certain places all of a sudden. He bit his lower lip, hoping that the pain might still his rapidly beating heart, that the pain might erase the forbidden thoughts that began to occupy his mind. Those thoughts which he desired to never see again! They were the very reason why he sneaked away from his father’s palace night after night! With every touch, with every word the King spoke something stirred in his loins yet again. Legolas was hard, so painfully hard in his leggings that it physically almost hurt; how on earth could such an innocent caress that was not even an endearment be so utterly arousing? It was maddening.

 _‘Please. Ada stop. I cannot withstand your touch.’_ He pleaded. Of course those words were said in vain, how should his father ever understand his insane train of thoughts? That he was the very reason for his distress? Futily he fought against his bodies’ response.

Keen eyes observed everything Legolas did; they travelled down his shoulders over the muscular arms until they came rest on his son’s hands. Inwardly, Thranduil shook his head in disbelief – had Legolas truly forgotten everything he had learned those past years? Did something ail him? What was the true reason for his mental absence? No matter how hard he tried to comprehend his son’s behavior, the King couldn’t draw a conclusion from his son’s awkward behavior. Tantalizingly slow he bent his head down until he was on the same level as his son, whispering gently: “Relax your fingers and avoid to grip the bow too tightly, such a behavior will make the weapon tremble.”

Actually the King couldn’t help but wonder why his son clutched onto the bow as if it was the most precious thing on earth. Neither was it one of the most expensive bows nor was this an archery competition; situations which could easily explain such a nervousness. Apart from some of his warriors that did not pay any notice to them they were alone, standing at the very end of the field, almost hidden. Still, his son gripped the bow until his knuckles shone white.

A slight frown left the young elf’s lips. He knew that his father meant every word he said, he knew that everything he did was far from being accurate, from being perfect. He knew, there was no need to tell him, to discourage him even further! “Let go Legolas. Feel the smoothness of the wood, breathe in and relax.”

Desperately, he wished to show his father just HOW good he had become at archery over the years but the harder he tried this morning the more he failed. Utterly and completely Perfection! His Sire would never tolerate anything else than perfection, be it his son or not. Legolas did never wish to impose but to please the one whom he truly loved and cherished, snatch a compliment from those kingly lips that only rarely formed into a smile (although his father’s smile was the most beautiful sight on earth! Breathtaking and charming alike!). He breathed slowly in and out and finally loosened his fingers around the bow; just a little but apparently enough.

“Better.” Thranduil commented instantly, appreciation audibly in his voice as his lips curled into a genuine smile. There was no tone of disapproval present, but still Legolas couldn’t relax with the divine feeling his Sire’s breath dancing over his skin elicited. How should he concentrate with those rosy lips lingering maddeningly close to his throat? “But you are still twisting the bow ever so slightly." He added. Carefully, the King slid his left hand slowly down his son’s arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath the light tunic Legolas wore whilst his right hand came to rest on the other’s hip to repositioning his stand.

Instead of focusing his eyes on the target all Legolas could do was to follow his Sire’s hand with his gaze, staring at the slender fingers truly mesmerized whilst his mind began to drift off into a very distinct direction.

 _‘STOP! ADA. STOP touching me!’_ Legolas wished to scream but the protest that had formed within his mind never left his lips. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a single coherent thought anymore as the grip on his hip tightened – he shook like a leaf in the wind when his father’s talented hand enveloped his own, using a little force to change the direction of the bow.

“Like this.” The King said, finally pleased with what he saw. By now he stood so close that Legolas felt the warm breath ghosting across his neck, brushing against his ear like the softest breeze of summer. It was madness and temptation at the same time. Oh ever so often he had imagined exactly this scenario in the darkest hours of the night; to be held like this, to be touched right there where they now stood until they would sink onto the dusty ground, arms and legs entangled, lips met by lips, breath and thoughts mingling.

Legolas knew he had to control himself to avoid further embarrassment; the situation was bad enough already, he didn’t need those wicked thoughts to resurface! Several times he tried to fight the forbidden dreams to the very back of his mind, but he couldn’t; the softly spoken words and gentle touches made him nearly faint, he was distracted by the most alluring situation he’d ever been in. So close, so maddeningly close his father’s mouth was; he could almost feel those warm lips grazing along his throat, slowly and deliberately, feel Thranduil’s slender fingers sneak beneath the waistband of his leggings, palming his erection until his world went blank.

Legolas gasped aloud, unable to cover his mouth as both his hands were placed on his bow.

 _‘Gods, stop!’_ he whispered to himself the moment he inhaled sharply; it only made everything worse as the unique scent of his father’s perfume found its way deep into his lungs. Didn’t his Sire realize what a tremor his silvery spoken words elicited? What his touches, his proximity did to him? Was the King truly blind? Legolas’ mind refused to follow the last remains of sanity that existed within him, no matter how hard he tried those forbidden thoughts would not stop. At first Legolas had thought it to be an innocent elfling crush he had, but many months have passed ever since he had first felt the alien emotion; and instead of vanishing the feeling has only developed into the breathtaking emotion of love.

“Aye.” He managed to choke out after long moments of silence, his wavering voice betraying him. Thranduil narrowed his eyes unseen by the other – he had no explanation why Legolas reacted so extraordinarily awkward around him this very morning. Nothing, absolutely nothing of his son’s behavior made any sense to him – he only tried to help him, did he not? But for the moment, the King decided to ignore his child’s behavior.

Words of encouragement were spoken lightly: “Good, Legolas – so the matter of your arms seems to be finally solved.” They truly had to start at the very beginning this morning and Thranduil felt as if he taught his little leaf who could hardly walk on his own again. With the difference that his son was nearly grown up by now. In five years he would reach his majority and would be counted among the adult inhabitants of his Kingdom, ready to live a life completely at his own. The King was not entirely certain if he liked this prospect or not; Legolas was still his little leaf and not even a hundred centuries could ever change that.

“But still: the position of your legs and hips are still in need of improvement.” The melodious voice that was so mesmerizingly close against his pointy ear caused the tiny hair on his neck to stand, gooseflesh spreading all over his skin. Certainly, his Sire’s words were accurate but how on earth should he ever concentrate with such a proximity? Before Legolas could change his standing, his father’s right arm was placed around his waist. His world went blank not a second later, his mind spun and his vision blurred. Involuntarily, his eyes fell shot for the glimpse of the moment – how on earth was he supposed to act normal around this divine and enchanting creature? What was wrong with him? Gentle words danced across his skin but didn’t reach his mind that already lingered in a dream-like state. A few inches, only a few inches further down and his Sire’s arm would brush against the treacherous bulge in his leggings. Legolas inhaled sharply, his arousal only growing with every thought that crossed his wicked mind.

Never must he know! Never must he find out!

The raise of a delicate eyebrow went unseen by the young Prince who tried to control his inner turmoil. Why couldn’t his father simply leave him be? Wasn’t this hard enough already? Until now the training grounds had always served as a most welcoming distraction, a place where he often found peace and solitude from his troubled mind.

“Legolas, you are stiff as no elf could ever be.” The shining eyes and softly spoken words declared a truce of trust, but Legolas was unable to comprehend, to act upon his Sire’s words. Thranduil shook his head; he had still no explanation – this was nothing more than another lesson in archery, was it not? Yet his son reacted as if he awaited his doomsday? Frozen to the ground he stood, unable or unwilling to move, to follow his words on his own accord.

In truth the young elf simply was unable to think with coherence, the words swimming in his head without any understanding. Legolas was physically present but his mind roamed freely, lingering in his forbidden fantasies, savoring the divine touch against his skin. Absently, he moved his leg ever so slightly that his thigh brushed against the other; a fierce tremor rushed through him immediately and the arrow simply escaped his hold, swirling through the air and hitting the tree behind the target.

“Legolas! You are completely absent this morning.” Thranduil sighed.

Aye, he knew that he was! There was no need to tell him repeatedly that he was and his father’s words only fuel his anger. Anger that was entirely directed towards himself. “Oh by the gods.” Legolas cursed bitterly, mixing the worst elvish swearwords with those of the common tongue he had picked up from the merchants which occasionally visited his father’s realm. “Rhaich!”

“Legolas…!” The King said in a stern tone, enforcing the grip he had around his son’s wrist just a little more. By now his son should know that such words were never tolerated in his presence, no matter how upset he might be.

“Forgive me Ada.” The young elf whispered, lowering his head in shame and defeat. He didn’t know what to do, what to think anymore. Inwardly he cursed himself for his inappropriate display; disappointing his beloved father had always been his greatest fear ever since, the very reason why he trained like a madman, until his hands and fingers were sore, until all thoughts were erased from his mind. And now he couldn’t even hit the target a single time. Tears began to form in his eyes – and that was exactly how he was feeling; frustrated, upset and sad. So close and yet so apart.

It was the King’s voice that cut off his dreadful musings. “Legolas, I do not wish to hear such filthy words form your pretty but innocent mouth. They are not suited ..”

“For royalty. Yes. YES - I know.” Legolas snapped and interrupting his father’s words, much harsher than he had intended to. That it was only an attempt to hinder his tears from falling the other could hardly know.

 _‘GODS, DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING?’_ Of course his father knew but his words were entirely neutral and innocent; it was his own corrupted mind that turned everything his father said and did into something sexual, something suggestive! It was maddening and his frustration only grew with every second that passed. Oh how he desired to simply slam his bow into the dusty soil and run away, lock himself up in his room like a sulking child, cry until his eyes were burning red. _‘Oh night thou was my guide, more loving than the rising sun that joined the lover to the beloved one, transforming each of them into the other.’_

But what explanation did he have to do so? It wouldn’t take long until his father would demand an explanation for his petulant behavior – and he would do so with every right!

Until now, Legolas had not even noticed that the grip around the hand which held his bow had tightened, certainly the first sign of disapproval the young elf thought with a heavy sigh, tears collecting in the corner of his eyes.

“Exactly.” The King stated. He held Legolas’ wrist steady as he made him drew the bowstring back with his right hand. “Yet there is nothing for which you have to ask for my forgiveness – but you might allow me a question instead. I am wondering what the explanation of this mental absence might be?”

For the moment Legolas decided to simply ignore his Sire’s inquire and followed the guidance of the King’s hand; no strength seemed to be left within him, no strength to mutter his protest, to fight the divine touch that was bestowed against his heated skin.The entire premise seemed simple enough. Draw, aim, release; but then his Sire’s free hand was running again over his left arm, the fingertips brushing against his bare hands. No wonder, that the young elf felt as if this task was the hardest task he ever had to accomplish.

Could it be that his adolescent child felt the strange emotions of love for the very first time in his life? Possibly, the King thought even if wished to push that very thought out of his mind immediately. Legolas was too young, too innocent, too perfect; he was still his little leaf, was he not? Thranduil swallowed the sigh of frustration that nearly escaped him. Everything seemed to make sense now; his son’s mental absence, the incapability to concentrate, to focus, the awkward behavior around his parent, fearing that he would find out. Aye – it would certainly fit. “You know you can speak with me no matter what ails you my little leaf.” The king whispered right into his ear, the words so soft like the fingertips that enveloped his own. Once more they eliciting a wonderful shiver that slowly crawled down his spine right into his loins.

 _‘Yes, Ada.’_ He said darkly to himself as another tear followed the first that already came to rest in the corner of his mouth. _‘About everything except this madness of mine.’_ Legolas could have cried from frustration as another guilt washed through him; his father’s words were so loving, so full of deep adoration and understanding and he was such a thankless child.

 _‘So be it.’_ There was nothing he could do against the situation, against the misery and sparking delight he felt. All defenses have fallen by now, he had surrendered. Utterly and completely – and slowly the tears began to run down his burning cheeks. Weakness – he was weak as anyone could ever be; another trait that would hardly be tolerated around the admonished King. What could he lose when there was nothing left to, after all? With the King’s hand over his own, with his fingertips tightly wrapped around him and the bow simultaneously, the other hand drawing back the bowstring until it nearly tore.

“Estelio guru lîn ne dagor. (You underestimate your skill in battle). You underestimate your strength, Legolas.”Possibly, but Legolas had long given up to prove his ability with the bow this day, savoring the close proximity of their bodies, the divine touch that was bestowed against his skin.

Legolas drew in a deep breath and allowed his head to fall back a little until his Sire’s lips accidently brushed against his earlobe and his heart nearly missed a beat. The brief contact was glorious despite its innocence.

“Dartho! (Hold!)” His father was commanding but with his hazed mind Legolas heard the King’s silvery voice whisper seductively against his heated skin; just as he had imagined it a million times already late at night. _> >Meet me tonight when nothing but the moon illuminates the sky at the clearing near the gushing waterfall<< _

The arrow would have long swirled through the air wouldn’t it have been for the hold Thranduil still had on both his hands and the end of the shaft. “Concentrate. Imagine to hit the heart of the one who occupies your thoughts.” Everything in the world had disappeared from Legolas’ recognition except for the feeling of his Sire’s hands and body against his own, his warm breath and the enchanting voice that swirled his head. The target several meters away was long forgotten as was the bow in his hands. Had his father actual said those words? Hadn’t he imagined them? The young elf couldn’t determinate wishful thinking from reality any longer.

 _> >I will.<<_ Was his response when his Sire’s fingers lingered a moment too long on his cheek to be accidental, a little too demanding for a parental caress.

“Leithio!” (Release) Thranduil said the moment when he simultaneously let go of Legolas’ hand and therefore of the bowstring, sending the arrow straight through the summery air, but all that the young elf heard was a breathed: _ >>I will await you, then.<< _He grew harder than he had thought to be ever possible; a few more moments and he would come from the touches and his illicit fantasies alone, that much was certain.

Legolas didn’t care, couldn’t care anymore.

With a loud ‘thong’ the arrow hit the target and tore the young elf out of his musing and made his watery eyes nap open in an instant. Dead center! He couldn’t believe what he saw, what he felt; not even once he had hit the center!

“Legolas.” The King said quietly, his breath dancing over Legolas’ skin, brushing against his flushed ear. The words were only meant for them to hear. “I desire an explanation for this odd behavior of yours.” Did he actually wish to know who had captured his son’s heart, Thranduil was not entirely certain; nobody seemed good enough for his little leaf.

The only response Thranduil received was utter silence and countless tears that were flowing freely over his son’s cheeks by now. Legolas head was lowered in deep shame and defeat, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind no matter how hard he tried to control his exterior. _‘Unrequited then’_ Thranduil thought with a certain bitterness. Wasn’t his son the most beautiful creature that existed? The most charming young elf that lived within his halls? Who by the Gods could ever break his innocent heart? Undirected anger arouse within him and possibly this was the very reason why Legolas remained silent.

The King was at a loss what to do with his troubled son; forcing him to answer his question was beyond cruel and would possibly only elicit a blatant lie that would make things only worse, yet his curiosity was sparked and he desired to know the truth. “Legolas. Do not pretend you have not heard my words as I know you have.” He tried again, fighting back the urge to add a demanding tone to his words. He wasn’t here as his son’s King, his Commander at Arms but as worried parent that only wished the very best. “The stiffening of your body tells as much. Please?”

“I cannot, Ada.” Legolas stuttered, his voice filled with sadness and desperation that nearly broke his own heart.

Briefly, Thranduil closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath, pondering his thoughts how to proceed with his deeply troubled son. What was the true reason behind his behavior, what caused the indescribable sadness deep in his child’s heart? Carefully he took a step backwards and placed both of his hands on Legolas’ shoulders, spinning him around to meet his eyes. Where he had expected his son to fight, at least a little he didn’t meet any resistance, the other’s body was limb without any strength left.

 _‘Forgive me.’_ He thought – he simply should have dropped the matter long ago. Carefully he wiped away one of the tears with his thumb which only made Legolas shaking more, eyes still directed onto the ground. The following words were soft as the breeze that caressed their skin. “No matter what mischief you have caused, what it is that troubles you so much - it cannot be so bad that you cannot confide in me? Legolas, your awkward behavior troubles me greatly, I worry and I sense that something ails you, my little leaf.” Legolas has long outgrown the age where those names of endearment were suitable to be used in publicity but the King couldn’t care less. “Please?” Simultaneously he removed his hands from his son’s shoulders, opening them widely to catch his beloved child into an embrace, given Legolas would accept

A hearty sniff was the only answer which he received for long moments. “I ..” Legolas began but his voice failed him and he sniffed again, hesitating to accept the offered embrace. Aye, he longed for his father’s touch but again a wave of guilt washed through him. “I cannot say.. it .. it is.. helpless.”

Thranduil shook his head as his son’s voice only confirmed his earlier suspicion, heart-broken was possibly an underestimation he thought as he awaiting Legolas’ physical response to his invitation. “What is it my ray of starlight? Ah im, ú-'erin veleth lîn?” (Do I not also have your love?) The King asked softly.

This was more than the young elf could ever bear. By now, the tears were running freely down his cheeks and without thinking he let his bow fall out of his hands onto the dusty ground and accepted the offered embrace, shedding his tears helplessly against his father’s chest.

“Gerich veleth nîn, ada.” Legolas sobbed, his voice wavering, his entire body shaking violently against the other. “Gerich veleth nîn.” (You have my love, dad. You have my love)

_‘I love you – more than you will ever know.’_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Parts of the Sindarin dialogue comes from LotR (Elrond in FotR, and the dialoge between Arwen & Elrond)  
> **If you have enjoyed this fic, a little feedback would be highly appreciated <3**


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